Surviving and Dying
by May a Chance
Summary: The night Thomas, Minho and Alby are in the Maze, fourteen-year-old Newt is extremely distraught.


**I do not own this amazing franchise know as the Maze Runner. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner, and his publishing company whom he probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling**

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To the Gladers, there was one thing between their survival and certain death. A wall of thick stone towering a hundred feet higher than their heads. Covered in thick, long strands of ivy, the wall was a sight to behold and never failed to stun the latest Greenie into a slightly lethargic calm. When the first of the Gladers, fifteen or so boys of all ages, had awoken in the Glade, they had been quick to notice the walls which had quickly stunned each boy as they awoke. Of all the boys, one of the youngest and most nervous was Newt. Though already taller than some of the boys at eleven or so, Newt had a shy aura that had not failed to endear the older boys to the slightly edgier boy. Upon awakening, the tall blonde had freaked out. In the instant he would have liked to scramble to his feat, his entire body froze up as though he had been caught in the gaze of Medusa. With warm eyes peaking out from beneath a burst of honey-toned locks, Newt had an innocence to his appearance that was not hard to ignore with his cold sense of sarcastism there was no denying his appearance, there was denying his temper. Even three years later, panic and shock set in within the young Glader fast.

"Don't do it, Tommy, don't you bloody do it!" Newt screamed at the latest Greenie, the umpteenth in a long line that had begun with Newt. The tense form next to him plunged forward between the closing doors and slipped out the other side just as the darkness of the Doors slammed together.

Silence, stunned, _terrible_ silence. It was as though the Glade had become mute at the closing of the immense doors, though each boy knew that there was more behind their silence than the slamming of a towering door. Alby, Minho, Thomas. Alby had been their leader, their eldest sibling whom they knew that they could rely on. Minho had been their crazy best friend who was always trying something new and it was always crazier than what he had tried before. Then there was Thomas, a shank as stubborn as any that Newt had met and who certainly did not deserve to die on one of his first days.

Newt was the first to recover from the silence, though his recovery was more of a backtrack. Anger and pain swirled up within him as he whirled away from the doors with his shoulders hunched. There was a dark and terrifying glimmer in his normally warm brown eyes. The newest of the Gladers, the ones who hadn't come up in the small groups that had come up at the beginning of the Glade, looked surprised and confused. The Newt they knew was orderly and calm, a teen who never lost his temper and was a leader, a friend. It was the Originals and the Seconds that knew who understood Newt better. Gally, one of the Seconds, frowned after the departing blond. He then jerked his head after Newt with his eyes locked on dark-haired Zart, one of the Originals.

"I'll go after him," Zart stated easily as he began to jog after the distraught boy. A handful of the newest Gladers looked confused, having not noticed the connection between Newt's bad ankle and his hatred of the Maze and Glade. "Yo Newt! Slow down, shank!" The young Glader just continued to limp away from the group.

At Gally's harshly barked words, the Gladers began to spread out with distress clear upon their faces. Zart had caught up to the taller boy and had lightly wrapped an arm around Newt's slim shoulders. The blonde scarcely acknowledged the older boy's presence.

Thick and harsh, a cold scowl had plastered itself to Newt's squared features. Beside him Zart was not speaking, only assuring Newt that he was not alone with his silent presence. The dark-haired boy had begun to guide Newt in the direction of the Homestead long before; Newt was anything but cooperative without the guidance, having been wanting to hide in the forest for days on end in his sorrow.

"You know I can't leave you," Zart murmured softly, caressing Newt's thin shoulder. The taller Glader had clearly been assigned as Newt's de facto protector for the evening and possibly quite a while longer. "Come on, Buddy. Let's get you some food." Buddy. Newt's official nickname among the Originals and Seconds since the first Greenie had arrived. Before that, he'd been known as Greenie. The first Greenie. It had been just Newt's luck that his friends _died_ and he got re-saddled with a disliked nickname.

No one was in the Homestead. It was like a carcass, once filled with life and now but an empty shell. The kitchen, normally clean, was a mess in the waiting for Minho and Alby to return. Pots had been stacked in the sink while the refrigerator door hung slightly open, light revealing itself from within. Zart seemed vaguely disappointed by the lack of cleanliness in the Homestead but quickly released his mild irritation to grab two sandwiches, one for himself and the other for Newt. Sitting at a large yet empty table, it seemed almost normal save for the lack of calming chatter around them. Just a bite into his sandwich, Newt released the bread and pushed his plate back to rest his head on the wooden table.

As slow as could be, the Gladers began to trickle into the tables. The Originals and Seconds closest to Newt or Zart sat at their table while it was a spiral of seniority spreading out around them, the newer Gladers looking curiously in at the tight knit group of Gladers. Clear to all was that something deep was up yet unclear to all outside the circle was what said something was. The air was subdued and quiet, the sky quickly darkening as day turned to night in an instant. Hushed murmurs of conversation circled around the large tables in distraught tones as Newt's head rested miserably on the table, the shank half-asleep yet unable to rest more deeply from nightmares.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Jeff the Med-jack or doctor murmured into the hushed conversation. His black gaze was locked onto the half-asleep form of Newt as the others gazed at him curiously. "I mean, he's the youngest of the Originals and Seconds and atop that he was closer to Alby n' Minho than anyone. It was Alby, he was fifteen or so then, who was with 'im since the very start, Alby who brought him back from panic and back to the Glade. It was Minho who ended up being closest to 'im though. They were as close as brothers." His tone was sad and subdued at the memories of the two Gladers.

Newt opened his eyes to gaze at Jeff. "I'm still awake you know," he murmured dully. His eyes were darker than normal, haunted as though images of ghosts were swirling within his head. Zart patted the taller Gladers shoulder gently, a distant smile in his eyes.

The dark-haired teen of around seventeen then ruffled Newt's hair to have his hand swatted petulantly away. "You should rest." Several of the other boys nodded in agreement, all looking at Newt with concerned eyes. The boy huffed.

"You're ganging up on me. I can't sleep. I'll only see Grievers."

That put a hush over the table. Gazes glanced nervously to the edges of the Glade where the immense boundaries keeping Grievers out stood.

Newt could not sleep. He just couldn't. Newt was not an insomniac nor had he slept all day. There was no logical explanation for his lack of sleep aside from his fear. Newt feared his sleep like a bird feared to fly. He feared for his friends and hoped for them even though he knew that the situation could not have gotten any more desperate. The odds of all sorts were stacked against the three boys outside the walls in every possible way. One was unconscious and most likely stung. One was exhausted from a long day of dragging the unconscious boy. The final boy had no experience in the maze whatsoever.

It had to be around four that morning when Newt jolted awake at a scream in the Maze. "Shut up and follow me!" Minho was screeching, most likely at Thomas who had no experience in the Maze. After that, there was silence. As Newt tried to settle himself into his hammock, he listened intently for sounds in the Maze. The Grievers were screaming like no tomorrow. "We need to be in sync!" Minho was yelling then. "On my mark!" The moaning of the Grievers was all there was for a long minute. "Now!"

Silence, no moaning or any other noise for the rest of the night. When the doors opened at dawn, it was Newt and Chuck who sat cross-legged at the doors awaiting their opening. At five-thirty that morning, no Runners would be running that day, it was Newt who was waiting nervously at the West Door, the same door that had closed upon the three boys the previous night. The Originals and Seconds had exchanged worried looks at this but agreed that if the boy wanted to spend a day grieving, he could spend a day grieving _if_ he was never along through the whole time. In other words, they forced the Runner, Adam, and a Second to stay with Newt as Chuck wandered off for his own job.

Gally came over at one point to sit next to Newt while a boy called Jack who, while among the elder Gladers, had been among the first non-Seconds to come up. The Med-jacks, who were not busy that day, had decided that they could waste their day sitting in front of an open door that would be closing that night.

Something deep in the Maze stirred. Newt squinted at it before climbing to his feet haphazardly. "What happened?" He asked as he pulled Adam along behind him, "how the bloody-"

"We'll tell you later. Right now we have to save Alby."

Newt could feel the blood draining from his already pale face. He was as probably as white as... snow? The fluffy white substance that fell from the sky, snow. Newt's face was as white as snow. "What do you mean?" He asked, voice filled with false hope. "He's, he's a- alive?"

Thomas sighed and glanced up the tall wall to Newt's left. Seeming exhausted, he raised one hand to point at a dark shape around halfway up the wall. Newt and Adam followed his gaze up the wall to see the figure that could only be Alby.

Before Newt could speak, Adam did. "Is... is he alive?"

"He was when I left him."

Newt's mind was having trouble processing the entire matter. He had dropped into autopilot and wasn't keen on coming out of it anytime soon. "When you left him?..." He shook his blonde head to clear it quickly. "You n' Minho get your butts inside, get yourselves checked by the bleeding Med-jacks. You look bloody awful. I want the entire shucking story once Clint and Jeff are done with you and you've rested up as much as physically possible."

Minho scowled at the very idea. "And leave you alone in the Maze? Newt, the day that happens is the day when we're all living happy, teenager-y lives. Which will never happen."

An awkward cough cut off Minho. "What am I? A rock?" Adam asked.

"Yes."

"Just go."

And so they did.


End file.
